


fancy name

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: Blindfolds, Dom/sub Play, F/M, Femdom, Insults, Large Cock, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Pegging, Praise Kink, Safewords, Spanking, Unrequited Lust, a lil bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:52:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: She whispers, close to his ear.“Don’t think I didn’t hear you last time, begging for your other master.”





	fancy name

**Author's Note:**

> indulgent thing :)??????
> 
> hope you're having a good day!

It’s been a while that they’ve been doing this, Touka realizes suddenly. Her fingers maneuver all the buckles with practiced efficiency. Everything is set to her size and needs no adjustment, except the one thing she’s taken certain liberties to — adjust.

She reaches down to ensure its place. The new dildo strapped to her is…heavier than she thought it would be. She strokes it, feeling a flutter of static in her chest when the breadth and — and girth of it fills up much more of her hand than she expected. When she squeezes, the — flesh of it gives only a little. The squeeze itself sends another little jolt through her, one that jars her deeper past the parts of her body that are technically connected to this ambitious, helplessly excited plastic cock.

She fills her palm with a squirt of lube. She swallows up a mouthful of salivation, which tastes just a little salty with the precum she just finished lapping from the top of his dick.

“Can you see?” Touka asks.

“No,” he says, with annoyance. Her question was the first thing she’s said to him since fastening the blindfold on him and apparently he’s unhappy about it. His erection, which he’d pressed greedily against her when he’d entered the room and which she’d taken care to harden further with a few expert licks, is flagging with his impatience. Her eyes narrow.

“What was that?”

“…no,” he repeats, a little more neutrally. “I can’t see.”

Not much better. It’s fine; there’s still time. She’s all slicked up now. She opens her mouth.

“Get on your knees.”

:::

She knows more than one side of the CCG’s Black Reaper, but this is still the side that surprises her the most. The first time they’d ever done it, she had no idea how to move her hips and even so he’d made a cry that was nothing like the Black Reaper and everything like someone else. Touka had felt her body fill with heat and she ground herself into him, a final time,  _deep_ , and panted as she watched him shatter like a dropped egg.

The last time they’d done it, before this, his cry had taken on a certain shape. A certain name.

“Raise your hips higher,” Touka tells him. He obeys only belatedly, so she repeats herself, with a snap: “ _Higher._ ” Still he only nudges himself up, so she digs her fingers into the fleshy dip adjacent to his hip bones, and listens to him huff as she yanks him up, up.

“Come on, higher,” Touka tells him, making her voice cold. “Don’t be such a weakling.” He bites the sheet, unable to anticipate her hand smacking his ass until it lands, forceful enough to redden him immediately. After that, he’s up. It’s not an easy pose. She spreads his legs further and relishes the quiver of his thighs.

“That’s right,” she says softly. His cock is swollen again and she cups her hand on his balls, like a gesture of comfort. “I know it’s tough, but you’re doing well, Associate First Class. Don’t think I don’t have your interests in mind. This is about how high it would have to be for Arima Kishou-san, right?”

He doesn’t say anything — but he tenses, hard, and she takes the opportunity to smack his ass again, the other side this time. She does it again, and then a third time, until he gets the picture, and his muscles relax.

“Don’t,” Touka snaps, “think I didn’t hear you the last time. Crying for him while you’re with  _me_.” She rubs a lube-covered thumb between his cheeks. His hole flutters against her, with anticipation. Or apprehension.

“Don’t worry,” Touka assures him. “You want him so badly? It’s fine. I’m not offended. But…let’s see if you can take something even close.”

She lifts her thumb, and replaces it with the tip of the strap-on, heavily lubricated, dripping. It’s not like the times they’ve done it before, with the endless stroking until finally she has at him and drains him off his edge. This time, she simply, slowly, begins to push.

:::

It’s pure speculation, on her part. A little bit of wishful thinking and shameless justification.  _Such a massive guy must be massive everywhere._  She couldn’t stop thinking about it, or stop thinking about how he might react to it. Presently, she watches him, hungrily, closely.

His realization isn’t immediate. His body shifts, pushing into the bed, as she sinks in the first half-centimeter — his face buries into the sheets — she withdraws back out and then pumps into him quickly again, working at the ring of him until the tip of the strap-on slips in and out with slippery ease. Then she smacks him again, until he stops holding his breath and releases it in a ragged gasp.

“Well?” she asks.

“Y…yeah,” he mumbles.

“‘Yeah?’ What’s that supposed to mean?”

“M…ore.  _Please,_ ” he hisses, after another slap.

More, then. She relubricates, just in case, and then grips his waist, raising him again to meet her. Once again, she pushes, carefully.

He spreads wider, and wider still. She scrutinizes him, listening for even the quietest indication that she should stop, but he takes it, and keeps taking. Still, the strap-on is broader still then what she’s been fucking him with and when his body stiffens some further centimeters in, she withdraws, strokes in and out again over the muscle she’s already stretched. He whines; his spine arches. Her hand confirms that his dick is starting to drip, and she squeezes him, tight, with warning.

“You can’t come,” she tells him. “Not until you’ve taken everything.”

“I…” He’s panting. “I…it’s…it’s…”

“‘It’s?’” she echoes. He doesn’t answer. Touka thrusts in again, as if to give him a hint, and he cries out, and she hooks her fingers into mouth, washing off what he dripped on her. He sucks her fingers and she massages his tongue, soothing. Her voice is low.

“It feels much bigger than usual, doesn’t it, Sasaki-kun.”

He shivers. She lets him onto his stomach, and when he lands, she watches with satisfaction as his legs spread to make space for her. She pushes them apart even further. She whispers, close to his ear.

“I can’t believe you were begging for your other master.” He trembles. She pinches his tongue.

“Pathetic,” she spits. “Like a helpless pet still desperate to be held in the lap of the person that kicked you. Have you already tried, Sasaki-kun? Did he not want anything to do with you? It’s alright. This is all it is that you wanted, right?” She rolls her hips forward, and to her surprise sinks in a little deeper. She combs her fingers through his dark hair, which is already damp with sweat.

“Don’t worry. I’ll give it to you. You’re already halfway,” she says approvingly. She pauses, and then, just in case: “Overall, you’re doing much better than I expected, Sasaki-kun. But if you’d rather stop and get some coffee…”

_Café._  That’s the safe space between them. The place he can always return to. His mouth opens.

“Haa…” His mouth is watering too much; he swallows. “Haise.”

“What?” Touka demands. His voice turns even quieter.

“Hai…Haise.”

Touka regards him.

“…Overall, you’re doing much better than I expected, Haise.”

:::

The sound of it in her mouth —  _Haise_  — releases a new, raw wave of electricity.  _Zap._  He grips the bedsheets in both fists, and feels another stupid moan bubble up in the back of his throat, and quickly smothers it by filling his mouth with bedsheets too. The blindfold makes everything different. The feeling of everything is amplified. When she rests her hand on his shoulderblade, he jumps.

“Shh,” she murmurs. “Keep breathing. Breathe, Haise.”  _Zap._

Logically he understands that the strap-on probably isn’t  _that_  much bigger — it’s just the blindfold — his own weakness — the sharp coldness of her voice, paring him expertly down into the feeble, quivering mass that feels things best. It’s probably not that much bigger. But it feels — it feels — so —

“Good,” Touka purrs. “Good, Haise.”

_Zap._

He feels her hips move slightly, barely even a wiggle, and he can’t stop a moan as loud as if she were pounding into him. He’s never felt this full. It feels like she’s been penetrating him for hours. And still her hand is gripping his, still she’s saying, “You’re almost there, Haise, you’re almost there,” and now her other hand is smoothing across his lower back, stroking, calming him like an animal, and her fingers rub and massage firmly at the kakuhou embedded there, and it starts to throb even more feverishly than his heart. Touching him there causes even more of him to unravel, and together they gain another centimeter, another shameless moan.

It’s — it’s huge, he — he can’t think. It’s so big it feels like it’s drilling straight through his entire body, stirring up his brain. His insides are scrambled eggs, hot and gooey and incoherent. He can’t think. The dildo has already pushed past the spot she only has to nudge for him to thrash with pleasure but now he is finding there are many other spots inside him that crave contact. He’s only sensation, only  _opening_  and  _taking_  and  _full, I’m so full, I’m so full,_  and still not full enough.

“ _Yes_ ,” Touka whispers, and distantly he’s aware of a quality of voice that tells him she’s made it far enough that whatever pleasure throbbing through him is making its way through to her too. Her thighs are hot against his.

“Just a little left now. You’re doing so well. Inhale.  _Inhale_ , Haise,” she repeats, and she repeats it again, fiercely, until he does it, and he does it, and then does it again, and when he exhales that’s when she finishes it, sinking in, finally, all the way to the dildo’s impossible base.

:::

They rest. She allows him to rest. She strokes his ass, right on the parts that sting from earlier smacking, and he reacts only with a shudder. He can manage nothing else. He has no muscle now, and barely any bone: all he is is smoldering nerves, and a coal of kakuhou, that disgusting white-hot part of him that she stokes with unrelenting fondness.

“I’m inside now, Haise,” she says. She’s buried all the way in him and he is a mess but still her voice is cool, as solid as ice. In all the activity his blindfold slipped a little, allowing him to perceive just a fuzzy sliver of light, and she reaches to adjust it. In the renewed darkness he somehow can still see her eyes — not the kind that he first behind the cafe’s counter — but the gaze she reserves for him, here, when they meet. The penetrating crystal.

“Frankly, I wasn’t sure you’d be able to do it. I thought for sure you’d give up. Maybe even run away like the coward you are. I’m impressed by how badly you wanted to be fucked by something this big.” He gasps as she rocks her hips. “I thought a lot about how you would look, speared like this...I have to say it’s even better than I imagined. It’s too bad you can’t see it yourself. You’re spread so wide. It even looks a little red.” She spreads the cheeks of his ass, runs a fingertip over the rim of his hole, oversensitive and taut. “It’s admirable, Haise…so erotic. Maybe I’ll take a picture and send it to Arima-san. Do you think he might care about you then?”

“M…aybe,” he answers, barely.

“Is that how you talk to him?” she demands. “With that weak voice? And with just a single word, like I’m not worth the effort of a full sentence?”

He clears his throat. “M-maybe he would care,” he says. He must have been moaning earlier even more than he thought, because he sounds hoarse.

“‘Maybe.’” Touka repeats. “Sad.”

She leans down. She lies across him and he feels her breasts squish up against his back, unbearably soft.

“So you can give the Black Reaper a fancy name but you can’t give him any self-respect,” she muses. “Maybe you don’t deserve even this. After all, it took you so long to finally take me all the way in. I didn’t think you’d be such a mess that I’d have to hold your hand the entire time to get you to budge even a millimeter. It was exhausting, Haise.”

She reaches around, encircles his cock. “Maybe all I’ll do tonight is lie here, just like this. I’ll jerk you off if you start to get too limp and I’ll squeeze if you get too close. I bet if I keep you filled up and on the verge of coming all night, you’ll be nice and stretched and easy for next time. You’ll get on your knees and beg me right away, and maybe I’ll even decide to fuck you. Maybe I’ll even let you come. What do you think of that?”

She’s been rough with him before, but never this hard. The dildo, the stroking, her low-voiced imagination — he’s glad for the blindfold, because all her ministration has made him so feeble that he can feel his eyes sting. She absolutely would not let him climax if she felt like it and the mere thought of holding off is agonizing. He might explode, first.

“Please,” he chokes.

“I love it when you beg, Haise,” Touka says. Her voice sounds almost warm. “But I wonder what it is you’re asking for? Did you want to wait after all? As good as you sound now, I bet you’ll sound even better in a week. You’ll probably taste better, too.”

She slides her thumb against the slit of his cock, as if to plug it up. No, no, no.  _No way._  In his mind he already sees what she suggests — the specter of a week without release — Touka teasing him every hour with photos taken in :re’s apron and nothing else, Touka calling him to demand he confirm his chastity, Touka hearing the shake of his voice and on that alone devising and reciting punishments that make him want to grip himself again.

But —

Already the pressure building in his groin is so strong he can barely tolerate it. Behind the blindfold he blinks, hard. She’s reduced him, too thoroughly; he is nothing else but wanting. He has to come — he can’t have anything else. He has to come. He has to. He has to. He has to. He doesn’t deserve it but he — she  _has_  to let him —

“P-please,” he says, jaggedly. “Please…”

It takes so many more syllables to speak as politely as she likes, and he stumbles through every single one of them, and adds in a couple more, with desperation. This is the only way he has to kiss her feet while being utterly pinned down by her, trapped in the palm of her hand like an insect.

“Please…do me the honor of…of fulfilling me today, Touka-chan.” He throws in what she likes to be called, an extra grovel. “Not…not later. I…it would so relieve me…if you…if you would…go through the i-inconvenience. Of pleasuring me today. Please,” he adds. When she’s silent, he adds it again: “Pl… _please_.”

“Maybe,” she says, boredly.

“Please…Touka-chan.” He swallows and shuts his eyes and makes himself say it. “Please. P-please.”

“Listen to yourself. I should have used this dildo much earlier. A big cock makes you desperate, huh?” She sighs. He tenses, feeling her weight shift. She braces her arms on either side of him, and — slowly — begins — to withdraw. While they rested, his muscles had begun to settle, and the friction of the dildo emptying out of him is so intense that it makes him cry out.

The hollow it leaves is palpable, as if in the mere minutes they’d been joined his body had accepted he would always be brimming. He feels his muscles clenching, as if trying to keep it, but he is helpless against stopping her from filling him with nothing but the plastic tip. He is equally as helpless when she begins to thrust into him again, with a laziness that is agonizing.

“Like that?” she asks. “Is that how you’d like to be ‘fulfilled?’”

She always demands he speak politely about everything but one thing.

“No,” he whispers. “Please…f-fuck me harder.”

“‘Harder,’” Touka repeats. She removes herself again, slow, and pushes in again, slow, this time bottoming into him with a  _push_  that is decisive, but not quite — not quite —

“Like that?”

“N-no, not like — please —”

“Stop being an idiot then and explain properly,” Touka snaps, and he gathers his breath and tries to force it all at once, before his own embarrassment and shame can stop him again.

“Please — please fuck me hard a-and fast, Touka-chan.” He swallows; he clenches his eyes shut. “Please. I — I want to come, so — please fuck me harder, please —”

_Pound into me,_  he is going to say, or maybe he does say it after all, because she is saying, “So sweet, Haise…okay,” and she is fucking him, and suddenly there’s no border at all between what he thinks and what he desires and what he begs for her to do to him. All of his smothering lusts are now simply spilling from his mouth.

_Fuck me, pound me, harder, harder, deeper, I want it, I want to feel it, fuck me until I can’t think, fuck me until I come, please, love me, harder, yes, harder_ , yes —

She picks up speed, greedily, and his body, which had yielded so reluctantly to that new girth, accepts every too-loud, wet insertion. He clenches so hungrily against her withdrawal that the strap-on is helping him fuck her back. She is huffing and moaning and turning flush with arousal and he reaches up to grasp her thighs, urging her deeper. He groans into the mattress, voice jagged and broken up by her every thrust. She’s so forceful that his dick sways, a stiff pendulum, nearly slapping his belly.

Distantly he’s aware of Touka grasping his hair, and managing labored praise:  _You’re so tight, you’re so tight, Haise, I can feel you, I can feel how much you want this._  When he begs her,  _Harder, please, please, harder, please,_ she tugs a handful of his hair, rough, exquisite.  _That’s it. Good. Tighter. Louder, for me._ To which he cries back:  _Yes, anything, please,_ until finally pressure makes his voice wither to incoherent, pleading noises.

_I’m close_ , he wants to say,with apology, with desperation,  _I’m close, I’m so close_ , and he must manage some words, or perhaps she simply understands him, because she takes his cock and tells him, “Yes, Haise, come, come right now,” and he does, into her ready hand, gasping, shooting, dribbling over. His whole body quakes around the dildo and behind him Touka groans and sucks in a breath and shoves into him heavily, a couple more times, and then slows.

After climax, his body is even more sensitive. She extricates herself carefully, rubbing his back, and he breathes heavily through every milimeter. The cool air that blows against his insides when she’s finally out is a shock. He topples, finding he has no more strength to do anything else, no strength even to resist or to help her when she turns him onto his back and hooks a finger on the blindfold to remove it.

He squints through the light. His face is damp, with tears and sweat and possibly, probably, embarrassingly, saliva. His chest is heaving. He gulps air and looks up at her hazily, watching as she lifts her hand to her face and licks his come from her fingers as if indulging herself with freshly whipped icing from the tines of a beater. Between her legs, the dildo remains proudly erect, large indeed and quite different from his spent cock, which Touka bends down to lap clean next, as delicately as a cat. He’s so sensitive that even this makes him grip the sheets again.

“Good boy,” she tells him, straightening, licking her lips. “I knew you could take it, Haise. You worked so hard for me.” She raises one of his legs up, bending it over his belly, to expose him, to get a better view. Her finger caresses his hole, which is still dripping lubricant.

“How sweet you are,” she says. “So good.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs. Alongside the post-climax numbness and static in his body emerges a certain kind of warmth. She allows him to bask. He allows himself to bask.

_You are good. Good. Good._

For now, he is too weak to do anything but believe it.


End file.
